Dead is Better
by Mesalline
Summary: Dead is dead. The dead stayed dead. Dead and buried. Dead is What?


_A/N: Do you know, I'm actually quite shocked by this fic. It's probably the most disturbing one i've ever written- or ever will write. It may not seem bad, but if you look closely at the deeper meaning of it, it's quite shocking. I was lying on a sunny beach in Spain when i thought this up. I fell asleep, and when i had woken up the idea was allready fully formed in my head. It stayed in my head all holiday, mulling it over, wondering wether or not to write it. By the time i got on the plane, i'd decided i'd have to write it. I'm not even sure if i should really post this. My grandparents dog just died, and to write something like this...seems wrong. I guess these are my personal views if someone ever did come back from the dead. For once I can't say, "I hope you like it," or "Enjoy- On with the fic!" I'll let you make up you're own minds, on whether you agree, dissagree, or whatever. I really Hate this story, and i wish i never thought of it. But maybe now that i've written it down it'll go away. You may think i'm being extremely dramatic, but those are my views, and i've thought extremely long and hard about this. I do write about death but not really like this. So i'm unsure what you'll make of it, what you'll think. What i do not want is flamers- If you don't like don't read. I'd like feed back, though please. _

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The funeral for Lisa Haller was short and quiet. In fact, it was only Ianto who had attended. It was only Ianto, who had organized the whole Goddamn thing. It was Ianto who had killed her, Ianto who had loved her, Ianto who had supported her, Ianto who had buried her. Ianto had been her life, and she had been his. He had no close family, his parents dead and buried along time ago- in this very church yard, in fact. Ianto had informed Lisa's parents. Had told them exactly how she had died. Had told them when the funeral was, and where. They never turned up. Who could blame them? He thought, miserably. To have a Cyberwoman as a daughter. Instantly he felt sickened with himself and pushed that thought out of his mind so fast it could have been on roller blades.

The reverend was talking; his strong Welsh accent washed over him and seemed to echo loudly around the empty church. Ianto stared blankly at Lisa's Mahogany coffin. He'd chosen Mahogany. Why? He wasn't sure anymore. It had just seemed right at the time. He had blanched when the director had asked him if he had wanted silver lining or gold lining on the outside of the coffin. He went for gold without hesitation.

A strange urge to laugh suddenly took hold of him and he put his hand over his mouth to stifle it. Silver linings. Every cloud. Oh, the irony, he thought. The laughter died almost as soon as it had started. The reverend said something, and four undertakers stepped forward and started to slowly lift the coffin. They lifted it with difficulty, and he could see the strain and confusion on their faces. Ianto fought that strange urge to laugh again. They had probably never lifted a coffin with metal in it before.

As the small procession walked passed him, with 'You are always on my mind' by Elvis playing softly in the back ground, Ianto turned, as if in a dream, and followed them out into the cemetery. The air was bitterly cold, his chapped cheeks stung like hell, but he barely noticed. They trudged through the damp grass, the wind whistling through the trees. Wisps of ground fog had begun to weave there way through the blades of grass. They came to the plot which Ianto had bought for her. Ianto had bought it.

The reverend was talking again, but his words were not making sense to Ianto. The Mahogany Coffin was lowered gently into the ground. The wind howled. Ianto vaguely hear an "_Amen._" From somewhere in the distance and he repeated the word as if he was on auto-pilot. His voice sounded alien and detached. Alien. He'd know all about them, wouldn't he? He was burying one, after all. Ianto wanted to be sick. He'd done this; he was responsible for it, was he not? _Yes, yes you were_. A snide voice in his head whispered. _You're responsible for this and you know it_. _Don't be stupid_ said another, kinder voice. The voice of reason. Reason? _Where was reason when his colleagues had pumped bullets into her? You're colleagues shot her_, the voice told him. _They killed her, not you. You tried to save her. _

Ianto suddenly realized he was alone, the Reverend and the hired Undertakers had disappeared. Ianto stared numbly at the head stone. Lisa Haller, it read. 1983-2006. there was no message. No message of love, or prayer. He couldn't think of one for her. "What would you like the personal message to be, sir?" the director had asked. Sir, Ianto had thought. He's calling me sir. "Personal message?" he'd asked, confused for a moment at what he meant. The director shifted un-comftably on his chair.

"On the grave," he replied kindly. Ianto thought. He thought, and thought, and thought. But nothing came to him.

"It's okay," said the director. "When you think of one, let me know. Take as long as you like." Ianto had nodded his thanks and left.

Suddenly he was out on the moors with Lisa, pitching up a tent. The weather was bitterly cold. It had taken them an hour longer than usual to put the tent up. Lisa prattled on about her week at work, at Torchwood, Canary Wharf. Their was always allot to talk about when you worked at Torchwood. He had smiled and laughed with her as they talked about Ghost Shifts and strange blue boxes. The scene changed and they were at an Opera, Lisa had loved opera. Ianto had found it brain dead and had fallen asleep, snoring. He had embarrassed them both, she'd said. He was back in the cemetery, still staring at the empty space where a few, well chosen words should have been. But they weren't, it was blank.

Finally Ianto turned and left the Cemetery. He went back to work. When he entered the hub Jack and Gwen were stood side by side in the board room, looking down on him. Ianto stared back for a second, gave a slight nod, and went back to work. He worked in auto-pilot throughout the day, not noticing what he was doing. He did not notice the strange looks the others had given him when he gave them cold, sour coffee. He did not notice the mutterings behind his back and the worried glances.

Time ticked slowly by as he sat in his cold flat that night. The lights of the TV danced and flickered against the walls, casting long shadows across the room. Ianto forced himself up off the couch and shuffled towards the Tea machine. He'd have tea today. Time to change.

"Ianto?" a soft voice behind him called his name. He shuddered, he knew that voice. It haunted his dreams.

"Ianto?" more urgently, this time. Ianto turned around, slowly.

And there she was, larger than life, grinning at him. Ianto shook his head. She was gone. _Dead is dead, dead and buried-_

"Ianto, It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. You can change that, Yan. You held on for me, and I had to hold on for you, it was the only way. But they ruined it, that team of yours."

She held up a hand and touched his arm, reassuringly. He pulled away, it didn't feel right. It wasn't Lisa, It wasn't-

"But there is another way, Yan. Another way I can come back, I need you." She paused, and stared right at him. He was repulsed. Not Lisa, Not now, Please, Dead is dead, Dead is- What? Dead was what?

"Open the rift," she said softly. "Let it pull back everything, let everything seep back through. That way none of it will never happen, the Cybermen would be sucked through, I'd be normal again, Yan." she said.

"Normal," she repeated. "I need you to hold on, for a little bit longer." She smiled at him, and for a moment, he was convinced it was actually her.

"Lisa-" he croaked, but she was gone.

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It was to be a few months before Ianto saw Lisa for the last and final time. He had totally forgotten about the apparition in his flat. Torchwood did that to you, the job took a hold of you, until you could think about nothing else.

He came barging into the cells, escorting a hand cuffed Weevil at gun point. Jack and Owen were their, talking. They stopped abruptly when the door banged open.

"Coming through!" he yelled, and shoved it into a cell.

He glanced at Jack and Owen.

"That's the tenth one this morning," he panted. Jack nodded.

"They're on the increase." he looked thoughtful.

"Meet us upstairs when you're done here." Jack clapped him on the back and followed Owen out of the cells.

Ianto stared and contemplated the Weevil in front of him. It was very human, scarily human, in fact. It had often scared Ianto to think how human they actually were. Maybe they were degenerates, humans reduced to cannibalism. He didn't like to think about it.

The lights flickered, and she was there again.

Ianto shook his head in despair.

"Lisa," he whispered.

"Ianto." She looked at him with that look again, the one that had repulsed him so much in his flat.

"You know what to do, Yan. Thousands of people will die. If you don't open the rift." Her voice was soft, how he remembered it. Not computer like, distorted. Disturbing.

_Dead is dead,_ he told himself, over and over again. _Dead is dead and dead is buried. The dead stay dead. Dead is-_ and he came to a halt again. He didn't really know what Dead was.

The lights flickered again and she was gone.

He hadn't noticed that the Weevil had backed off into the corner, crouching, hiding.

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Jack was gone. The world was saved. He had not seen Lisa since that horrible day. He stood by Jacks corpse, which was lying in a white body bag. His face was as white at the sheets that surrounded him. _No life signs_, Owen had said. _He'd checked_. The dead stayed dead. Dead is dead, dead and gone.

He thought of the blank space on Lisa's grave, and wondered what to put. He thought of the apparitions, the two apparitions. Both of which had lead Ianto to a point of insanity where he had almost helped to destroy the world.

Lisa had lied, she'd not come back. He remembered the look she had in her eyes, the look that had repulsed him so much. Suddenly he knew what it was. Cold, evil. And with that knowledge, he knew what words he would put on Lisa's grave. He knew what Dead was, now. If Lisa had come back to life, after they had opened the rift, if she had that cold, evil look, wouldn't it have been better to remember her how she used to be? The weekend camping? The opera? What if she had come back, but changed? Would he have still loved her? He'd held on for long enough, it was time to let go.

Ianto took one last look at Jack.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

And he really meant it.

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Ianto took a trip to visit Lisa's grave a few weeks later. Jack had come back, he wasn't gone. He wasn't dead. _Not all the dead stayed dead_, he thought grimly. Jack had given him the day off to make the trip. He had known, perhaps a long time ago, that Ianto would need this trip.

"Don't come back," he'd said. "Take the full day. Even have the morning off tomorrow, have a lie in. So long as you're back here tomorrow afternoon with a nice mug of Coffee."

Ianto had grinned and said he'd bring them all the best coffee back with him he could find in town, but Jack would have to pay for it.

_Cheeky sod_, Jack had said, and handed him a twenty pound note.

That had been an hour ago, and now he was stood at the foot of Lisa's grave, a bunch of Lilies in his hand. They were her favorite. The old Lisa would be pleased that he'd been so thoughtful. Ianto placed the Lilies neatly and carefully at the head of her grave stone. He knew what dead was, when he had looked at Jack that day. He had known what dead was all along, he supposed.

But what dead actually was seemed so terrible and horrible to Ianto that it had taken him a while to admit to it. The director had been most surprised and shocked, disgusted, even, when Ianto had told him what he wanted written as a personal message to Lisa. One that would stay with him his whole life. One that would remind him not to think back. To keep the old memories treasured, and not to let the recent ones cloud them. The grave stone now read:

_Lisa Haller_

_Born 1983- Died 2006_

_My dear Lisa,_

_Dead is better. _

Ianto stood there all day, staring at the message in grim satisfaction. It felt right, because it was the truth. None of this "_May the angles guide you_," nonsense, he thought. He had wanted the truth. Again he saw her cold eyes, and he knew, that dead was better. _Dead is dead. Dead is gone. Dead is buried. And dead is better._

He stayed like that until he felt himself grow cold.

_Fin. _


End file.
